


Dimensional

by odoridango



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Development, Character Study, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odoridango/pseuds/odoridango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a nice fall day, Kyoutani attempts to enjoy his fried chicken at Lawson's, but meets an irritating stranger instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dimensional

Kentarou doesn’t mind the fall. There’s nothing troublesome about it. No rain, no snow, no sweltering heat. The color of the falling leaves is sort of pretty. And he gets to do this, loiter briefly under the canopy of the closed bookstore beside the Lawson’s just a couple blocks from his house, savoring his Karaage-kun after his jog over to the confectionary selling the mitarashi dango that his mom and his siblings like so much. He’s never been fond of dango; fried chicken is good enough for him.

He looks into the carton, counting three pieces of chicken left. Thanks to the canopy he can avoid the midday sun, and his intimidating looks mean no disturbances – all the better for him. And the slight breeze is soothing, at least until someone shuffles under the canopy next to Kentarou, blocking the airflow and muttering under his breath, rustling through his conbini purchases.

Kentarou glares at the intruder a little, chomping viciously down on his next piece of chicken. The intruder doesn’t seem to notice, a concentrated scowl directed towards the comically small looking milkbox in his hand. Kentarou chews furiously as he notices that the interloper is a scant inch taller than he is, and looks down at the innocent, cartoon chicken container in his hand in attempt to waive away the stab of irritation.

The irritation intensifies as the stranger finally notices him, and starts to _stare_ , and Kentarou has never felt a gaze this unsubtle and shameless before. Gnashing his teeth about the last pieces of chicken, enraged at being stopped from enjoying his favorite snack, Kentarou crushes the hapless container in his fist and growls, “What the fuck are you staring at?!”

The stranger, unbelievably, keeps staring, brow furrowed and scowl still in place, _still_ drinking from the milkbox. Looking over the straight black hair and tall, lanky frame, Kentarou somehow finds the intruder a little familiar.

“You play with Seijou,” the stranger says at last, voice sharp and clear. “The wing spiker, number 16. Kyoutani….san?” His expression finally changes, big blue eyes blinking in befuddlement.

Kentarou presses his lips together, off-kilter. Nobody just talks to him this way. No one calls his name with respect or politesse, aside from family. “What’s it to you?” he says finally, clearing his throat.

The stranger frowns a little. “We faced each other in the representative playoffs,” he says, jamming the milkbox straw back in his mouth.

The only game Kentarou played was the one against Karasuno. Against the short, fiery-haired middle blocker, and the irritatingly tall, blond first-year.

Huffing, the Karasuno player turns away. “Oikawa-san called you in. I thought because you replaced Kunimi, you’d play like him.” He sucks on the milkbox straw, making the typical obnoxious noise, before crumpling the box in one sure hand, and throwing it towards the trash can a little ways away. The box falls in, dead center.

“You’re Tobio-chan,” Kentarou realizes in a flash, remembers the quiet, looming setter that Oikawa had watched carefully from across the net, from the corner of his eyes, mouth tight. Remembers the short conversations that would arise between Iwaizumi and Oikawa in the locker room, that put a bitter look on that turnip-head first year’s face, Kindaiki or whatever. Strange that a kid like this could put a note of caution in Oikawa’s step.

“No I’m not,” Kageyama Tobio grumbles mulishly, leaning back onto the bookstore shutters with a metallic clatter. “Oikawa-san is the only one who calls me that.”

“Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa,” Kentarou snorts, rolling his eyes. “You setters. What’s so good about him.”

The stare is back, quiet and penetrating. “You should know,” Kageyama says, a sureness and certainty in his voice. It feels like it’s been a long time since anyone’s looked at him, _at_ him, like this, spoken to him like this. “After all, you came back and played for Aobajousai in the end.”

Kentarou scowls, resists the urge to leave then and there. But Kageyama Tobio is the first year who makes Oikawa waver, whose shadow lingers on the first years on Kentarou’s own team. He’s seen the tapes, gone through the newspapers in fits of quiet curiosity after lengthy practices of seeing Oikawa run Yahaba into the ground, preparing him for when the third years are gone. A prodigy. A genius. A tyrant.

“Ahhh, geniuses who work so hard really are disgusting, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa had said exasperatedly at morning practice, throwing down the sports page from the daily paper.   

“Like I said, aren’t you proud?” Iwaizumi replied, grinning and smacking Oikawa’s back with a hearty thump, sparking a wave of loud, wailing protest.

Kunimi had come over to look over the page, eyes skimming over the text. “So they won after all. He’s really changed,” he’d murmured then. The turnip-head had kept his eyes firmly on his own locker, but he’d spiked his practice balls particularly hard that day, leaving bruises on their libero’s arms.

Kageyama Tobio, opponent and threat. Kageyama Tobio, who walked right up to him to talk, something Kentarou’s classmates wouldn’t do. Kageyama Tobio, who changed.

“What about you,” Kentarou says gruffly. “Do you know?”

“He can do everything I can’t,” Kageyama says with almost no hesitance, straightforwardly, before digging around in his plastic bag for another milkbox.

“So what? You’re just going to follow him? Even after playoffs?” Kentarou snorts, thinks of all the times he’s looked at Yahaba’s hunched back before leaving the gym for the night.

“Oikawa-san’s probably the best setter in Miyagi,” Kageyama says, stabs the straw into his milkbox. There’s a steely glint in his eyes when he speaks to Kentarou next, the confidence, the almost-arrogance, the utterly cool composure that Kentarou had seen on court and read about in the newspapers. “I’m going to beat him.”

“Oikawa won’t be on court next year,” Kentarou says lowly, and he can feel his voice rumbling in his throat, ready for a fight.

Kageyama doesn’t look away. “You’re a good wing spiker,” he says, and the bald compliment takes Kentarou off guard, gets a frown from him. “You have a lot of power. You take risks and your inner spike is amazing. But even if you have a year more of experience, we’ll win next year too.”

“The fuck you will,” Kentarou fires back.

In his pocket, Kentarou’s phone jingles. Predictably, it’s a text from his little sister, asking when the dango will get there, and if she can have all the white ones. Of course, because the white ones are his little brother’s favorite.

When he looks up again, Kageyama is checking the time on his own cell phone, still on his second milkbox.

“Your number,” Kentarou demands.

Kageyama’s head whips up so fast Kentarou wouldn’t be surprised if he gave himself a concussion. “What?” he blurts out, clearly startled.

“Give me your number,” Kentarou repeats, “Your SMS, I don’t care. Just turn on the infrared or whatever.”

They stand in awkward silence until their phones beep in confirmation. If Kentarou didn’t know any better, he would think that Kageyama even looked a little bashful or excited, lips pressed together in an odd grimace, body almost quivering.

“You make more sense than that fluffhead and Oikawa do,” Kentarou says bluntly. _A team is a very precious thing._ He should find out what that turnip-head’s actual name is. “You’re younger than me anyway.”

“We don’t go to the same school,” Kageyama says blankly.

“What _ever_ , first year,” Kentarou scoffs, turning around and walking away, his heart thumping with each step. Taking risks. Trusting a setter. Joining a team.

At the end of the week, Kentarou finds a message waiting for him after practice.

**Kageyama Tobio**   
_How is Iwaizumi-san?_   
[6:45 PM]

Slowly but surely, Kentarou begins to type back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And then they gush about Iwaizumi (as much as Kyoutani can gush) and become really odd, but good friends. The power of Iwa-chan's biceps. Or y'know, just Iwaizumi. 
> 
> Quick notes - the info on chicken and Lawson's is based off of Kyoutani's character profile! Lawson's is a convenience store chain, Karaage-kun is the fried chicken bits they sell, which has very cute packaging. Think Burger King Chicken Fries in terms of packaging. This was also my first time writing Kyoutani! Feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> This actually sprung out of my thoughts on Kyoutani and my inabiltiy to find character development fic for him, which then devolved into random musing on different types of isolation and aggression, and then also, potential cyclicality in regards to Oikawa's "legacy" re: him being awesome = pressure for his successors (and then his own insecurity and lack of self-confidence), and also of course, Kitagawa pain for the souuuuuul. Lots of this was more subtextual in the actual fic though.
> 
> But mostly, Kageyama and Kyoutani need more friends. Okay? Okay.


End file.
